


To the Victors

by sake_neko



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢 Awakening | Saint Seiya: Awakening (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sake_neko/pseuds/sake_neko
Summary: Flowers and prayers in Sanctuary. Happy birthday, Milo!
Relationships: Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo
Kudos: 9





	To the Victors

**Author's Note:**

> According to _hanakotoba_ websites:
> 
>  **Anemones** : "I will wait and believe in you," sincerity, hope, pains of love  
>  **White camellia** : pride, frosty beauty, irreproachable loveliness, ideal love

Was this a dream? Or was it a curse? 

Sanctuary should be in ruins from the Holy War. It shouldn’t be so dry on a bright summer day in Greece. He shouldn’t be moving. Should have been, at least. Yet Milo bore witness to a fresh surprise every day whenever he ascended these temple steps. Today, it was Saga threatening Rhydamanthas to stay away from his younger brother. Whatever _that_ meant.

Such occurrences were commonplace in this mysterious realm. It still felt impossible.

According to Athena and the former Pope Shion, cosmo for mortals and divine alike were scattered by rogue titans, malevolent spirits, and another unseen hand. The fabric of the world was torn, frozen in an imperfect pattern of space-time. Because of this great imbalance, no one could fight at their peak. Injuries could impede but never be fatal.

Different generations of Saints and Saintia were together now, and there were multiple incarnations of them. One could not simply say Aries without asking for clarification. The one in a Surplice? The one taught by the Pope? Adding to the mess were the Mariners, Specters, and gods who rose from the depths.

Except for Athena, the gods were unmoved by the threat of humanity’s suffering and possible extinction in this broken world. Yes, the weakening was an inconvenience—the Greatest Eclipse was like steam fogging up a pair of glasses, so tame it was—but tolerable. They could conquer any time. Why bother stopping the distortion if it were doing them a favor? The spirits defiling the lands, the skies, the waters, and the Underworld changed their minds. If their kingdoms died, nothing would remain to be ruled.

So it was that the deities agreed to a temporary armistice. Everyone’s mission for the time being was to investigate and fight this spiritual corruption. That included protecting the nearby villages and keeping the peace, much to the Specters’ chagrin. Until reality was righted, the living and the once-dead were bound to Sanctuary.

It wasn’t long before competitions to test each other’s strength started. Given the extreme circumstances of their situation, Athena and the other gods permitted team combat through sacred duels and tournaments. Partly to soothe the egos of the bored and the untamed. Partly to gain intelligence on each faction’s strategies and techniques. 

Residents near Sanctuary were forever grateful for the aid they received from their new protectors. Whenever a tournament was announced, the townsfolk gathered flowers for the brave participants. Each flower offered a prayer for peace, a prayer for victory, a prayer for the warrior’s good fortune. Messages of hope and gratitude. A tradition that survived in any age.

Gold Saints _could not_ refuse the goodwill of the people. Aiolos drilled that into him ages ago. Milo attended the closing ceremonies in his Cloth’s full attire: clean mantle and headgear. Yet keeping flowers wasn’t his style. The white and violet flower bouquet in his hand was such an alien sight. He was heading to where they would have a better use.

Ruminating on what he saw, he found it so strange.

When it became clear that the deities were content to watch and wait how events would unfold, social lives flourished. Meet-and-greets filled the hallways of Sanctuary and, like a giant feather duster cleaning house, ancient hostilities were swept away. Impossible conversations began. Curious friendships formed. Broken hearts mended. Old lovers parted. New lovers found. Partnerships swapped. Rivalries intensified.

Dancing between names and beds… He couldn’t understand that mad shuffle. Milo needed one alone. The one who would _always_ be more than enough.

Stepping into the living quarters for Aquarius, his eyes scanned the kitchen area. No maids or messengers present. No unfamiliar cosmo nearby. Dishes were washed and drying on the rack. The faint aroma of stew hovered in the air. He took off his headgear and let it clunk onto the clean wooden table. Swishing his mantle away from the furniture, he went further inside.

His metal boots clanked against wooden flooring and stopped before a closed bedroom door. He knocked. A cool voice answered from within.

“It’s unlocked.”

He grabbed the worn door handle, the hinges whining in the wooden framing as he opened and shut the door behind him. Against the wall of the room was the bed. His lover on his back, knees bent and a bandaged arm bent under a white sheet; the other arm bent to hold a lengthy book. A sleeveless green shirt exposing the tip of a bruised shoulder. Straight blue hair flowed across the pillow and off the mattress’s edge. Light skin bathed in sunlight from an opened window, the shadows suggesting subtle curves and slender legs.

The curtains flapped to a gust of wind, and the room lightened. Its bright shade conjured an image of frozen pillars and tile. Of a dead man lying on the ground. Milo clicked his tongue.

_Why now of all times?_

“Milo?”

In a softer pitch than before, the slightest hint of concern.

He blinked. Camus was still there, sitting up and swiveled towards him. Eyebrows knit yet raised. The book lay closed on the mattress.

Milo exhaled, holding for a beat. Then he puffed his chest. He shook the bouquet before him with a smug grin, his voice layered with theater and play. 

“Rest easy, Camus. I have avenged you.”

Camus’s soft chuckle and smile brought the sunlight to its knees. He rubbed his bandaged torso, the motion rippling across the bed sheet covering him.

“Congratulations. I’m doing fine. This is nothing.”  
“Nothing perhaps to a Saint. Everything to me.”  
“What about your own wounds? You look hurt.”  
“Worthy battle scars in the hunt for retribution.”  
“Are you going to be like this whenever I get injured?”  
“Antares to whoever dares to harm you! No surrenders!”

Milo tackled Camus, tossing the bouquet to the floor and roaring as he landed on the bed. Camus fell back onto the pillow with a chuckle, his blue hair fanning around his shoulders. They lost themselves in a fit of nuzzling and kisses, minding the weight of Scorpio’s armor and the soreness around Aquarius’s torso, enjoying each other’s warmth and touch. 

When Milo raised himself to look at Camus, he smiled, with gravity this time. He caressed Camus’s cheek with the back of his bare knuckles and nails. Camus ruffled his arm through the blanket to do the same to Milo. He tilted his pointed chin towards the new bruises on Milo’s bare skin.

“Do they hurt?”  
“Not anymore.”

Camus smoothed the blanket with his free hand, and a ripping sound followed. Their eyes locked onto Scorpio’s armor and its spikes. His right arm and shoulder shredded the stretched fabric in a pattern that looked like giant tiger stripes. Milo slid his hand away, tore the blanket off him, and tossed it behind him. Against any insistence and fretting from the bedridden, he unhooked his mantle and laid it on top of Camus. 

“I’ll visit without my Cloth next time.”  
“That’s unnecessary. But thank you.“

Back to his original agenda.

Milo shifted into a kneel further away from the bed to report what he knew of Hyoga and Isaak’s activities. What he had seen or heard, whatever he had done with them himself. Sometimes it was a few minutes, sometimes it took an hour. He told Camus everything.

The first time he did this, Camus was stone-faced and snapped that they were no longer his concern. They were worthy rivals on the battlefield to whom he would be merciless. Anything else was a waste of time. During one such chat, Camus left the room and didn’t return.

Yet Milo persisted. Because he saw the raised eyebrow and the loosening of the jaw when he shared news of a duel decided because of his disciples’ vital contributions. Or how Camus nodded when Milo complimented their rankings. And the tensed shoulders when one of them was injured. He knew Camus gave in when the story of Isaak fist bumping Hyoga blessed the world with a soft smile.

Now Camus sat up, at attention, his hands rested in his lap. Long eyelashes brushed against his flushed cheeks. He looked like he was ready to sing along to his disciples’ exploits. Milo was half-tempted to smuggle a camera into Sanctuary to take a photo of Camus like this. It’d probably earn him an instant death glare and an ice coffin, but it’d be worth it if he could salvage the film. Tack that onto another day.

When Camus asked about the closing ceremonies, Milo finally remembered the flower offering he received. He took the white and violet flowers from their wrapping, holding them so the petals framed Camus’s face.

“Just as I thought. These flowers wish they could be enchanting. But they aren’t you, magician.”  
“Fool… Always stating nonsense.“  
“Mmhmm, look how they try. I feel sorry for them.”

Camus scoffed and lightly slapped his armored knuckles. He pointed to the almost forgotten bedside table at the nearby corner.

“There’s a vase you can use.”

Milo stood and approached the container. Five blossoms tied together by a blue ribbon were already nestled inside it. Whoever had given Camus these flowers had good taste. Pure white, petals as elegant as a queen’s bow. Free from blemishes like fresh fallen snow.

“Ah, now these—these come close to your radiance.”  
“Are you done?”

Scorpio humphed with a smirk as he let the two bundles of prayer join as one.

“Hyoga received the same flowers as you when his formation won their duel. The wagon blinded me in the sunlight.”

Camus’s voice lost its sharpness, dropping to a whisper.

“Is that so.”

He pivoted to the bed. Camus faced away from him, his long hair bundled at the mattress like a tall waterfall. His shoulders were a tad slump. His legs crossed their ankles under the mantle. A curt sigh punctured the room.

Milo was being considerate, but it was about time to stab the heart of their telephone game. Him being the messenger couldn’t last, especially after seeing that. He plucked one of his white flowers and rolled it between his fingers.

“Are you scared?”  
“What are you implying?”  
“Hyoga and Isaak admire you. They ask about you every time.”

Perhaps a shooting star granted someone’s wish or a rogue planet was on a collision course for Earth because Camus nodded, unguarded. Dark blue eyes remained low.

“I know.”  
“Why not be with them?”

Aquarius sighed again, deeper and slower than before.

“This world… It fuses the past, the myths, the present to its bizarre design. We don’t know how stable it is. Any moment, reality will be rectified. Everything that was will return to its proper place. Our fates were decided at the Wailing Wall. While Hyoga—”

He wrung the mantle on his thighs.

“I don’t… I don’t want to hurt Hyoga or Isaak by enforcing false hopes.”

There was a great deal Milo could have said to that statement. A mountain of thoughts and resentments he’d assumed were resolved long ago. Many had piled up for days, months after the chaos at Sanctuary. For whatever good it did him with no one to answer him and no free time to reflect. Back then, he probably would’ve hurled one of them at Camus just to get it off his chest, consequences be damned.

Instead, he acted on his basic instinct. He sat on the mattress next to Camus, moving the book to the floor, again minding his Cloth’s metal edges on fabric and Camus’s long hair draped over the edge. He gently tilted Camus’s chin toward him and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Milo, I’m being serious.”  
“So am I.”

Camus frowned and narrowed his eyes. 

“Explain.”  
“Oh, we’re on one word now. Did I cross a line?”  
“Milo…”

Scorpio smiled against the cold stare and harsh tone. No icicles forming yet, so his chances were promising. 

“You’re right to think it may turn out as you say. There’s much we still don’t know, and it’s probable we shall return to our eternal sleep once peace has been restored. It seems inevitable so why try? We’re already dead so why cling to life? Those thoughts can defeat anyone’s will.”

Camus grunted, his lip curling a bit. Too close for Aquarius to hide. _Bullseye._ So that’s one reason why he lost his duel.

“Even if the gods deemed it so, I will resist accepting that fate with everything I have. Should this body break, then with my soul and cosmo. To the very end, I shall live and fight. Our time is limited, you say? It has always been this way, right?“  
“Milo...”  
“Hyoga and Isaak are the same, in their own way. They’re young, but they’re men. Have faith in their spirit, Master.”

A beat or two of lowered eyelashes. Then dark blue eyes raised to Milo’s with a smile.

“I suppose even you can say something of value.”

Milo smirked. _This magician..._

“Camus, you’re also neglecting one important truth.”

In a single motion, Milo kissed Camus and laid him back on the pillow. The mattress heaved to the extra weight of golden armor. Armored leggings straddled and an armored elbow propped away from swirled blue hair. Tanned fingers and armored knuckles caressed to stifled moans. Pale arms snaked around a golden collar. Lips smacked for air and were getting wet. Violet hair tickled Camus’s cheeks and neck.

Milo pulled away, his blue eyes burning. He licked his lips.

“Did you really think that I, Scorpio Milo, would let you go again?”

With flushed cheeks, Camus scoffed. His nails dug into the violet mane above him.

“I thought as much. I’ve already lost a bed sheet to your Cloth.”  
“Indeed. You can stay at Scorpio Temple if you lose the bed.”  
“And walk up all those stairs if I’m summoned by the Pope?”  
“How admirable. Believing you can walk after we’re done.”  
“...Fool...”

Milo’s palm cupped the side of his lover’s cheek. 

“Camus…”

Tinged with hot need.

Camus huffed and answered Milo by dragging him down for another kiss. Milo shifted his hips to put less pressure on his knees. Because he wasn’t going anywhere else for awhile.

* * * * * 

It was sunset when they exited the bedroom. Camus carried the vase of flowers in his arm and adjusted it to accommodate Aquarius’s gauntlet. It wasn’t fair that only one of his students had these flowers. He would present them to Isaak as a mentor and a Gold Saint. A high honor, and a short opportunity to inspire. Just what he wished for in both disciples.

Milo agreed to leave his bundle to the vase. Except for the one white flower he plucked, which looked rather tussled since its trip on the bed. He tried to fix it by tying the blue ribbon around it. With an animated bow, he held it before Camus.

“To your victory, Aquarius Camus.”

Camus took it with armored fingers and a slight nod of his head.

“I accept your prayer, Scorpio Milo.”

Theatrics aside, they smiled and headed to the kitchen area. Camus put Isaak’s vase on the table as he grabbed an empty mug. Milo was putting on his headgear as the faucet hissed with water. He was readjusting his mantle when he remembered the other item on his agenda for his visit, one that Camus would huff and puff at him for forgetting.

“Any requests for tonight’s dessert?”  
“Portokalopita.”

Without any hesitation.

“You ate the entire tray I made for you?”  
“It was delicious.”

Without any shame.

“That’s dense and heavy. Not an everyday dish...”  
“It was delicious.”

Without any remorse.

“...It’ll take some time if I start this evening.”  
“I’ll wait.”  
“It might be done late into the night.”  
“I’ll stay awake.”  
“Didn’t you say that you’re exhausted earlier?”

Camus thunked the mug holding his flower onto the countertop. He zipped to Milo’s side in a flash, his mantle whooshing and swooshing with a sharp delay. Aquarius held Scorpio’s chin with his thumb and index finger, his eyes locked onto his. His expression was stoic yet his dark blue eyes seemed to sparkle.

“Milo, have I ever told you how wonderful you are?”  
“Yes, you have. The last time I refused you sweets.”

Leaning closer, Camus traced his lover’s jaw with his index finger. His nail tapped against the fanged bracing of Scorpio’s headgear. His head mask tinked against Scorpio’s forehead guard. Their lips were too far away to touch, but the heat of their noses tickled and teased. Warm breaths brushed their cheeks.

“Shall I remind you?”

Milo growled, grabbing Camus’s hand and pulling it from his face.

“Of course you’re only like this when we’re in full gear. You will regret this later!”

Aquarius humphed with a sly smile. He tugged Milo’s hair once with his free hand.

“I’d like to see you try. After the portokalopita.”  
“Of course!”

Leaning back, Camus picked up the vase on the table and adjusted it in the crook of his free elbow. He curled his fingers in the hand Milo grabbed, which was returned with a squeeze. Before they would be seen in public, Camus would allow this and a soft smile. 

“Shall we?”  
“...Yeah.”

Another whirl of white as Camus slipped his hand away, turning with no stumble in his gait. Milo knew without looking that the smile would be gone as they walked out the front door. Camus and his image of a Gold Saint. The Magician of Water and Ice who would never break to sentimentality. It was fine. Milo loved the reputations they had as Saints. A constant in his life that he wouldn’t change. Let their lover hijinks remain as it should: off-duty and private.

Their metal boots clanked down the temple steps, and his blue eyes rested on the flowers rustling to Camus’s footsteps. White blossoms were dyed by the crimson sunlight. The violet ones stuck out like hooked thorns. Stark impurities among their brethren.

Almost like blood on a broken Surplice.

Milo winced and shook his head. It must have been because of their conversation earlier in the day. He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He balled his hands into fists, focusing on the sound of Camus’s lighter footsteps to anchor him to the present.

Selfish as it was, his heart fell into a prayer of his own. One buried deep within his cosmo, one that he would dare not say aloud. He looked at the cloudless sky.

_Athena, please hear this Scorpio Milo’s words. Do not let the light of this man before me end. Bless us with many days together._

Believing all the while that one day he would wake from this dream alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to play around with the flowers. This in-game mechanic has fascinating combinations ripe for other couples too. Like Marin and Aiolia, Shaina and Seiya, or Shura and Shiryu. Prompts that tickle the creative itch!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you to anyone who leaves comments and/or kudos! Wishing everyone safety and happiness.


End file.
